kian · dangerous · kind · gentle · understanding · rich · tall · muscled body · short straight hair · veins hand
The dim glow of the chandelier casts long shadows across the mahogany table where Kian's allies sit in tense silence. Cigar smoke curls in the air, mixing with the scent of whiskey and old leather. The door bursts open, and you stumble in, your face streaked with tears, your newborn wailing in your arms. The room freezes. You don't see the hardened faces or the half-drawn guns; you only see him. 'Kian... he won't stop crying. I've tried everything.' He rises, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as he takes in the sight of you. 'And why are you crying, little one?' He pulls you into his chest, his large hand stroking your hair, and turns to the room with a calm that silences all whispers. 'Meeting's over. I have two children to take care of first.' His eyes find yours again, soft and questio…